There Could Be Few Men
by Sauron Gorthaur
Summary: The tale of how Dustfinger, Roxane, and Basta met and how Dustfinger got his scars. Rated T for some violence when Basta cuts Dustfinger's face. Complete.
1. Minstrel and Fire Eater

**A/N: I know this story has been told many times here on fanfiction, but it's such a great tale that I had to write my own version. I have strayed from some of the details given in _Inkspell_ (Roxane doesn't take Dustfinger to the fairies, etc.), but I hope you enjoy it.- Sauron Gorthaur**

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**There Could be Few Men**

**by Sauron Gorthaur**

_There could be few men whose love for a woman had been written on his face with a knife._

– Inkspell –

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Chapter 1: Minstrel and Fire-eater

It was the colors she loved the most, the brilliant colors that cascaded over her as she stepped through the castle doors. Banners, tablecloths, and, of course, the costumes of the Motley Folk surrounded her, each shining with its own beautiful color. They mingled with the music and delicious smells, making Roxane want to lose herself in the glory of that hall.

She stepped out from the doorway and wound her way through the people, allowing all her senses to soak in the gaiety. The nobles of Ombra were sitting at the tables, talking loudly and laughing while the Motley Folk who would perform were practicing their individual skills. Roxane stopped to watch a tightrope walker dressed in sky blue balancing on a pole. The man smiled at her when he noticed her watching and she smiled back. She always received lots of smiles, especially from the men.

Her eyes darted to and fro, trying to take everything in. A fire-eater in traditional red and black was making flames dance on his fingers and a minstrel woman like herself was singing softly to the sound of a lyre. Every once in a while she saw a familiar face, but most were strangers, so she did not stop to talk, but meandered towards the opposite end of the huge main hall in Castle Ombra.

There were less people over on that end away from the long tables were the nobles sat. She would seek out her own private nook where she could practice the dance and song she would perform tonight. However, before she reached the corner, something caught her eye.

Evidently, she was not the only one who preferred room to practice, away from the pushing bodies and loud voices. A single man had stowed himself away in the corner and was warming up for his performance. Literally. For the man was a fire-eater, dressed in red and black, juggling five lit torches. In itself there was nothing at all noteworthy about it – Roxane had seen fire-eaters who could juggle twice as many torches – but the ease with which the man tossed up the torches and caught them again was what made her stop. And the man was catching them, not by the wooden side, but by the lit side. The fire streaked up his arms, but showed no signs of harming him in any way. His head was slightly bent, so that his long, gingery hair fell over his face and she could not see it.

As she stood, entranced by the strange sight, a small, furry animal popped out of the fire-eater's bag and chattered at her loudly. The fire-eater looked up and his eyes met Roxane's, but he never missed a single torch. He smiled at her, but his smile was different than all the others. It was mysterious and full of secrets. Roxane blushed and quickly turned.

The Motley Folk were scorned in some lands, but no one could put on a performance such as theirs. Roxane waited for her turn and watched with admiration as various performers did their assorted tricks. However, her eyes kept scanning the crowd, looking for that one fire-eater and hoping that he would be performing tonight. Her own turn came and she dazzled the nobles with her graceful dancing and lovely singing. A storm of applause greeted the end and she sat down well pleased.

Finally, a lull came in the performances and for one disappointing moment, Roxane thought it was over, but then a murmur ran through the crowd. "Fire-dancer. The Fire-dancer is going to perform." And then, she felt her heart beat wildly as the fire-eater stepped up onto the platform.

No words could describe that dance. Roxane thought that it was the most wild and dangerous thing she had ever seen for the man seemed to be wreathed in fire constantly, but it never harmed him. Instead, it obeyed him, leapt with him, allowed him to shape it. The fire-eater spoke to it with strange words and it answered with coiling flames. Roxane had seen many fire-eaters, but not one came even close to comparing with this one.

At one word, the flames vanished and the man stood in the middle of the hall, unharmed, without even a singed hair. He bowed and the people went wild, cheering and clapping madly. Roxane joined in, clapping as hard as she could to show her admiration for the Fire-dancer.

His was the last act of the night and the Motley Folk went about the business of packing up, although many stopped to eat and talk with the people of Ombra. Winding once more through the crowd, Roxane headed for the door although now she kept glancing around, hoping to see the fire-eater. At last she spotted him, standing near the door with his backpack over one shoulder. The Black Prince, whom any of the Motley Folk would recognize on sight, was standing by him and both were laughing at some private joke. The Black Prince put a hand on the fire-eater's shoulder and spoke quietly but merrily, obviously telling some story.

Roxane had not realized she was gaping until the Black Prince looked up and saw her. He grinned and pulled his companion's sleeve, purposefully speaking in a voice that Roxane could hear. "Well, look you here, Dustfinger. I think you have an admirer, for surely it is not I whom she has come to stare at."

_Dustfinger._

Roxane stood rooted to the spot, blushing at having been so caught, as Dustfinger stepped towards her, smiling that impenetrable smile. His voice was warm as if his fire had somehow got into it. "Ah, the minstrel. You are quite the dancer, I must say, and your voice would charm birds, I think."

Roxane glanced down, but smiled. "It is a good thing you went last. Otherwise, our poor acts would have been put to shame. I have never seen one of your trade who was so skilled."

This caused Dustfinger to laugh. "Oh, it's just that I know some secrets, and have befriended fire. Most fire-eaters merely try to tame it, but it will do so much more for you if you treat it like a friend, not like a performing animal." As he spoke, a small flame appeared on his palm, but then he closed his hand and it was gone. "But," he went on, "fire does not sing. It may whisper secrets and murmur dark words, but it does not sing. Fire can be a lonely companion and it is not nearly as beautiful as a dancing minstrel. What is your name?"

"Roxane."

Dustfinger made an elaborate bow. "And might I have the pleasure of Roxane's company for this evening?"

The furry animal poked its head over Dustfinger's bent shoulder and hissed balefully at Roxane before returning to the backpack. The fire-eater gave the pack a tap. "That is if Gwin doesn't object."

Roxane returned the bow with a sweeping curtsy. "I would be honored."

~o~o~

It was a night that Roxane never would have wanted to end. The food was excellent and the people of Ombra were both friendly and cheerful, but Roxane barely remembered the dinner or the nobles. She had eyes for only one man in that great crowd, and he in turn, seemed uninterested in anything but her. The Black Prince joined them some time later to tease his friend about that matter. "Well, well, who would have thought it? The Fire-dancer seems to have forgotten his crimson friend for once. But then flames do not have long black hair, fluttering eyelashes, or enchanting eyes, now do they?"

Dustfinger ignored him, but Roxane looked over into the black face as the knife-thrower leaned close to her. "I can guarantee that you will be the talk of the Motley Folk for weeks to come. It's not everyday a woman steals the Fire-dancer's heart." He turned and strode back into the crowd, humming the snatches of an old traveler's tune.

However much Roxane wished the night would go on, she knew it would have to end. But it seemed to come so dreadfully soon. The nobles began leaving and the Laughing Prince began to call to his servants to take down the tables. Many of the Motley Folk would be staying in Ombra for the night before moving on to other towns, but Roxane was heading south with a small group of the traveling entertainers. Dustfinger, who was one of those staying, showed her to the door. "My evenings will be too quiet without your voice," he said. "Perhaps you will sing for me again one day."

"And you can weave flames in the sky," she answered. "Yes, I'll make sure we meet again. I am to go south, but I will come back north soon. Will you be waiting?"

"Of course," he answered. From inside the backpack came a muffled chatter. "See, even Gwin is saying goodbye," he said. "Or perhaps he just wants to be let out so he can hunt. Yes, Roxane, I'll be waiting." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly before turning to disappear in the hall. For a moment Roxane stood there spellbound, but finally she turned and followed her companions, feeling so happy she could have laughed aloud.

~o~o~

There were seven in her group, not including herself, two women, Lastina and Lark, a knife-thrower, two tightrope walkers, and two minstrels. Roxane helped build a fire as the men set up a few makeshift tents. Lastina leaned over to Roxane. "Is it true? Lark tells me that the Fire-dancer is in love with you."

Roxane felt a small blush in her cheeks. "I don't know," she answered. "I can't read his mind."

"He kissed you at the door. I saw," Lark cut in.

Lastina watched Roxane's face. "Do you love him?"

Roxane laughed. "Of course, I love him. He enchants fire and hearts, and someday I'll go back to him." As she spoke, she rummaged through the simple bag that contained all her belongings, but her hand suddenly felt an unfamiliar shape. She pulled out the object – a glass ball the size of her fist filled with swirling fire that burned without fuel. As she watched the flames formed letters – ROXANE. The letters changed and spelled DUSTFINGER before returning to shapeless flames. Roxane stared at it, entranced, until she heard Lark chuckle. "Oh, he loves her alright. Don't they say that love is like fire, that it burns the same way? She's a lucky one for sure."

For a long time after the others had gone to sleep, Roxane lay on her simple bed holding the orb and watching it spell out her own name and the name of the man who had captured her heart with fire and a mysterious smile.


	2. A Dangerous Enemy

Chapter 2: A Dangerous Enemy

They traveled south for several days on foot, but the going was not difficult. They would stop at villages, putting on shows, and getting food and shelter in return. It was the life that Roxane had always lived and loved, but sometimes she thought of settling down and forgetting the roving life. Perhaps Dustfinger would like such a life, too.

On the fifth day from leaving Ombra, they ran into trouble. It was noon, and they were just settling down for some lunch, when five men clad in silver and carrying spears marched around a bend in the road. At the sight of the Motley Folk, the soldiers lowered their spears and the leader, a mean-looking fellow, stepped forward. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. "You know that the Adderhead does not welcome your kind in his lands."

The strolling players looked at each other nervously – not one of them had realized they had come so far south. The knife-thrower, unofficial leader of the group, bowed low. "Please give our humble apologies to the Silver Prince. We did not mean to stray into his land and we will return to Lombrica directly."

But the soldier merely laughed. "You must learn to be more careful. If we let you go, then all of your vagabond friends will wander freely through Argenta, thinking that the Adderhead has gone soft. Make your plea before the Adderhead if you wish, though I wouldn't expect much mercy. He has no fondness for your kind."

Roxane found herself being jostled roughly between the soldiers as they went south. It was not a pleasant trip, but she dreaded the end. The Adderhead had been known to imprison, even hang, members of the Motley Folk who came into his clutches. She had never seen the Castle of Night before, but she had heard enough stories to know that it was not a pleasant place. She reached into her bag and clutched the glass ball, wondering if she would ever see her fire-eater again.

At last they reached the Castle of Night and it was as dark a place as all the stories described. Inside, it was lit only sparsely by torches and the halls were narrow and oppressive. The soldiers took them directly to the Great Hall where supper was being held. The Adderhead was at the head table and he watched them with cruel eyes as the lead soldier explained how he had found the Motley Folk, who stood trembling in the dark hall.

The Adderhead chuckled when he heard the story and leaned forward. "So, you have made so bold as to enter the domain of the Silver Prince," he rasped. "You know, of course, that I detest your people who are naught but highwaymen and troublemakers. Still, there are but few of you and you do not look particularly dangerous to me. My men sometimes grow weary of their duties, so perhaps you can cure that. Put on a show for us and if you please me, I will let you leave here unharmed."

It was a demand that could not be opposed. The eight entertainers prepared to put on a performance that might buy them their lives. Roxane sat against the wall, awaiting her turn and glancing about nervously to take stock of her surroundings. There were a good many soldiers in the room, all in the silver of the Adderhead, as well as men dressed in black. There were only four people at the head table. Of course, Roxane knew the Adderhead and the woman on his right must be his wife. She knew the man on his left, too, for she had heard enough stories of the fire raiser with skin, hair, and eyes as colorless as milk. Capricorn, the Adderhead's favorite. However, she did not know the last man, the man on Capricorn's left. He was a thin, black-haired fellow with a foxy face and narrow eyes. As she looked at him, he turned and looked back directly in her eyes. She quickly glanced away and watched Lastina dance.

When her own turn came, she sang beautifully, although her heart seemed frozen within her. Oh, if only Dustfinger's warm fire was close by. She tried to think of him, to sing to him, instead of thinking of the men who would kill her if she did not meet the Adderhead's standards. But she was also aware of the man with the foxy face whose eyes never once left her.

Finally, all eight had performed and they stood nervously awaiting the Adderhead's decision. For a moment he stared at them with dark eyes, but then he chuckled. "Not bad, not bad. I have not been so amused for some time. I will let you go, but do not expect me to be so merciful a second time. You will leave at first light in the morning and my soldiers will make sure you depart from my land."

Roxane did not like the thought of staying in the castle for the night, but no one was going to complain with the Adderhead's decision. They were lucky just to be alive. She took a slice of bread from the table and wandered off towards a corner where she hoped she wouldn't be noticed. How dark and oppressive it was. She wished desperately to get out, to get a breath of fresh air, and to see the stars. Finally, she discovered what she wanted, a short passage out of the hall that led to a balcony. It was overcast that night, but at least the air was fresh. She took a deep breath and sighed.

"You sing very well, minstrel."

Roxane spun around at the sound of a strange, cat-like voice to see the man from Capricorn's side standing in the doorway. He was wearing black like all fire raisers and in his belt was a small knife which he fingered.

"I'm Basta," the man announced, saying the words as if they were something incredibly important. Roxane nodded dumbly and took a step back from him, but she felt her back touch the rail as she did. Basta took a step forward. "I work for Capricorn," he said. "I'm his chief man." Again pride dripped from his voice as if he had just announced that he was a king.

Roxane tried to smile, but failed. She did not like anything about Basta, not his foxy face, his purring voice, or his obvious conceit.

Basta took another step forward. "I'm glad the Adderhead said you could live. If he hadn't, I would have had to argue with him to have you. You can come back with me to the hall and I'll make sure you get the best food."

Roxane could have laughed if the situation hadn't been so dire. As if this man could have changed anything the Adderhead decreed. And did he actually think that she would want to spend the evening in his company. "No thanks," she said, trying to sound carefree. "I've already had a slice of bread and I don't eat much."

For the first time, irritation flickered across Basta's face. "Then you needn't eat," he said. "You can sit at the table with us, Capricorn and myself. Maybe the Adderhead will want you to sing again for us."

He reached out and took her by the wrist, but she shook off his grasp and moved away. "No thanks," she repeated. "I'm fine on my own."

This time there was more than irritation in Basta's eyes and his voice was less like a purr and more like a hiss. "I must not have made myself clear. I want you to come with me."

It was a dangerous position, but she didn't think she could bear to spend the evening in the oppressive hall with Basta. "I'm not interested," she said as forcefully as she could manage. She turned and tried to go back inside, but Basta blocked the doorway. "What?" he spat. "Is there another man?"

_Of course_, she wanted to say. _One who's ten times better than you._ But she remained silent and pushed her way past into the corridor.

There was a clink behind her and she turned to see Basta pick up the glass orb from the floor where it had fallen. He gazed at it for a few moments, long enough Roxane knew to see the two names in the fire, before he put it in his pocket. She did not like the way he was smiling. "Well then," he said with a sneer, "I wouldn't want to take your mind off your true love, now would I?" And with that he stalked back up the corridor to the hall.

~o~o~

They left next morning at first light, escorted by seven soldiers. It had not been a pleasant night for any of the Motley Folk, and every one of them was ready to head back north to safer lands. The soldiers made sure that they were well out of Argenta before turning and marching down the road. Sighing with relief, the eight strolling players continued north, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the Castle of Night as possible. They parted company with Lark, the two minstrels, and the two tightrope walkers who were going further north towards the Wayless Wood, but Roxane, Lastina, and the knife-thrower, Windrunner, went east, stopping here and there at the villages to amuse the people and earn a few coins.

One night they stopped at a small town named Orris where Windrunner had friends that he knew would house them for a few days. The people of Orris were glad to have Motley Folk there and the three entertainers promised them a show that evening.

It was a good show. The people were friendly and cheered at each act, offering those who were not currently performing to join them at table. Roxane munched on a delicious homemade slice of wheat bread with jelly as she waited for her turn. She sang and danced a merry song that had all the villagers clapping their hands and calling for more, but she was so out of breath by the end of it that she had to ask for a brief respite. Lastina got up and did another dance as Roxane got her breath back.

"Not quite as good as your performance in Ombra, but still very impressive."

Roxane froze at the sound of a voice she had dreamed about every night, then turned slowly, hardly daring to believe that it could be true. But, of course, it was.

Dustfinger was dressed in traveling attire rather than his traditional fire-eater's costume, but other than that he had not changed at all. The long, red-blonde hair, the eyes that danced with fire, the mysterious smile – each was exactly how she remembered in her dreams. For a moment she hardly dared to breath, but then she dashed to him and threw herself into his embrace. He chuckled. "Well, you've fulfilled your promise – you've sung for me. Now, I suppose it's my turn to weave fire in the sky."

When Dustfinger stepped out into the circle where they had been performing, a hush fell over the crowd. Garbed as he was, none of them knew him to be a fire-eater, but as he stood there, all eyes were fixed on him. He began to murmur words that no one could quite hear and then fire sprang up from the ground next to him. An exclamation of awe went up from the villagers as he began to shape the fire and dance with it.

The villagers of Orris along with the three entertainers cheered madly at the end of Dustfinger's performance. He bowed and walked off towards the houses where he joined Roxane. "There," he said, "so fire stills remembers me. I haven't performed for a while now. I guess I was saving it for you."

They sat down and Roxane leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at the countless stars. "Where will you be going now?"

He shrugged. "Wherever my feet take me. Would you like to come?"

She beamed. "Of course."

He put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "It will be so much nicer, having a companion who doesn't just chatter and hiss at you. How about going north, up towards the Wayless Woods? I've always liked it up there."

Two pairs of eyes watched the lovers from the darkness behind one of the houses. As Roxane and Dustfinger stood and walked along the quiet street, hand in hand, two dark cloaked forms hurried off into the night, eager to inform their master of what they had discovered.


	3. Basta's Revenge

Chapter 3: Basta's Revenge

Two happy weeks passed for Dustfinger and Roxane. They headed north, following the edge of the Wayless Woods and stopping at the small towns and villages to perform and earn a few coins. They decided to stop for a while at the house of some of Roxane's friends, a man, Redwind, and a woman, Arrisa, who had been Motley Folk, but had married and decided to settle down. They were more than pleased to house their old minstrel friend and the fire-eater.

About five miles from the couple's small country house was the village of Tranton. Dustfinger woke early the morning after their arrival and decided to go down to the village to buy some food and see if anyone was about who would be interested in a fire dance. Leaving a note for the still sleeping Roxane, Dustfinger slipped silently out of the house.

It was just dawn and Dustfinger strode happily along with Gwin following close behind. He snapped his fingers, watching in delight as sparks flew from them. Fire. It would always be a dear friend. He spoke words that only he knew and flames leapt up from the ground to twine around his legs. Skipping as merrily as a young child, Dustfinger danced with the flames and sang to them as they murmured back in their quiet voices.

He did not notice the stranger until he was only a few paces away.

Dustfinger stopped abruptly as soon as he saw the thin man clad in black who stood in the middle of the road with folded arms and an unpleasant smile on his foxy face. The leaping flames sank into the ground as their master's attention was drawn from them and Dustfinger stood in the road a few paces away watching the stranger with wary eyes.

The man held out his hands, showing them to be empty, although Dustfinger could see a knife thrust through his belt. "You must be Dustfinger," the man purred. "I don't think we've ever had the pleasure of meeting although I know an acquaintance of yours."

Dustfinger immediately disliked the man. He glanced around for Gwin, but the marten had disappeared, so he returned the man's smirk with one of his own unreadable smiles. "No, I don't believe we have met, but if you don't mind, I'd like to be on my way."

The man made no signs of stepping aside. "But I've been very eager to meet you. Your skills as a fire-eater are renowned." He took a step forward and Dustfinger countered it by taking a step back. "Since you probably haven't heard of me before, I'm Basta, right hand man of Capricorn."

_A fire raiser._ Dustfinger scowled. He had heard of the men the Adderhead used to terrify his subjects into obedience. Of all the people in the world, he could think of no one that he loathed more than men who misused fire. Fire was gentle, and he knew it did not like hurting people.

Basta ignored Dustfinger's sudden enmity. "I mentioned that I know a friend of yours. I believe that you are acquainted with the minstrel, Roxane."

Dustfinger looked at him sharply. "How do you know Roxane?"

Basta smirked again. "Oh, we met a while back at the Castle of Night. Quite a fair creature, isn't she? Unfortunately, she wasn't interested in me." His voice grew harder. "No woman refuses me and gets away with it, so I thought to myself, how can I hurt her the most? And I thought, of course, by hurting the man she loves instead of me."

Dustfinger turned, but two men, both dressed in the black of fire raisers and carrying knives, had come up behind him. At a nod from Basta, they seized the fire-eater. Dustfinger immediately spoke fire words and flames leapt up to protect him. But one man struck the back of his head, stunning him, so that the fire died. Dustfinger fought valiantly, but the men struck him again, managing to drag him to the ground and hold him still with his right cheek pressed into the dusty road.

Basta smiled cruelly as he knelt beside Dustfinger, pulling out his knife as he did. Dustfinger trembled as he felt the cold steel skim across his cheek. "Yes, yes," Basta hissed. "I can see why Roxane would prefer you. A handsome fellow, aren't you? Why don't you just save yourself the pain, fire-eater? If you give me Roxane, I'll let you get up and walk away in one piece. If not, well…" his voice trailed off menacingly.

Dustfinger could feel the tremors of terror running through his body, but the thought of letting this man anywhere near Roxane awoke feelings far more powerful. He strained against his captors, shouting out. "No! Don't you dare touch Roxane. If you do, I'll –"

"You'll what? Singe me?" Basta's voice was gleeful. "You're in no position to be making threats. Roxane may like you now, but let's see how she likes a man with half a face." And then he went to work.

Pain. Was there ever so much pain in the world? How could one body feel such agony? Surely, the only thing that was keeping him alive was the thought that he was doing it for Roxane. Sometimes he could almost see her face in the blood, but then it would fade into the pain. It would never end for there was nothing but pain, searing pain that seemed to cut his heart as well as his face. Every second was an eternity as pain filled every nook and cranny of his being. He heard his own voice as if from a distance pleading, weeping, screaming. He screamed until his voice was gone, but the screaming continued inside his head. There was no where to hide – even fire would not come to protect him now. Oh, would it never end?

Even after Basta and the men had gone, after the cruel knife had stopped cutting his flesh, he lay there in the dust unable to stand, unable to think of anything except the pain and how much he wished he could die so that the pain would be gone. At last, blinded by blood and tears, he managed to lift himself slightly and crawl forward, agonizingly slow. Finally, weakened from loss of blood, he collapsed and merciful blackness crept around his red vision.

~o~o~

Dustfinger woke to the sound of two voices, small and musical, conversing in quiet tones close to his ear.

"He will wake soon, I think, if he wakes at all. The amount of blood he was lying in could have turned the pool red."

"If he was to die, he would have been lost before we found him. No, he shall live, I think."

Dustfinger opened his eyes slowly and took in his strange surroundings. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at tree branches through which faint light trickled down to dance across his face. _His face._ The pain had not gone – it still throbbed through his skin – but it was bearable now. He moved slightly and a second later he felt tiny hands on his forehead.

"Do not move, fire-eater," a voice instructed. "Just lie still and rest."

"Who are you and where am I?" Dustfinger asked as he tried to relax his tense muscles.

The answer was a musical laugh. Another voice spoke from his right shoulder. "You are in the Wayless Wood, not far from the road where we found you near to death. I am Lapwing and this is my brother, Hyacinth."

Dustfinger heard the flutter of wings and a moment later a small fairy hovered above his face. Closing his eyes again, he breathed in a deep sigh. "Am I going to die?"

Lapwing landed on his shoulder, feeling no heavier than a leaf. "No, you will not die, although we have feared for you these last days."

Dustfinger's eyes snapped back open. "Days?"

Hyacinth's voice answered. "It was three days ago that we found you unconscious on the road. We heard your screams from afar. But we have tended you well, I think."

Dustfinger reached towards his left cheek, but small, strong hands stopped him. "I would not touch the wounds if I were you," Hyacinth said. "We have tended them the best we can, but there is only so much that even we can do."

Dustfinger felt a cold pit of fear in his stomach. "Is it very bad?" he asked hesitantly, not fully sure that he wanted to know the answer.

"Yes," Lapwing murmured, "but you shall live, be thankful of that. I do not think your face will ever be the same though."

With great difficulty, Dustfinger resisted the urge to reach up and touch the cheek. "I feel awful," he said.

"No doubt," said Lapwing. "You have not eaten in many days. When you are ready, we have fruit here for you."

"I'm ready now," he said, cautiously sitting up. The fairies brought him various fruits which he ate slowly and painfully as he looked around. The clearing in which he sat was small and pleasant, surrounded by large trees and filled with tiny flowers. A pool of clear water was nearby, half in and half out of the trees.

As soon as he saw the pool, he again thought of his face and wondered how bad the damage was. Though he felt sick at the thought, he nevertheless crawled towards the water. Lapwing and Hyacinth flew after him, cautioning him.

"Fire-eater, perhaps you do not want to look yet."

"The wounds are still healing. Wait, fire-eater."

But Dustfinger ignored them and leaned over the water.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes. Half his face, the right half, was as it had always been, but the left half was completely mutilated. Three horrific wounds ran the length of his face. Horrified, he ran his forefinger gingerly up the longest one which stretched all the way from his chin to the middle of his forehead. He knew the fairies were right – no amount of care or medicine would keep these disfiguring gashes from scarring. Turning away quickly, he choked back a sob, but was unable to keep the tears from flowing down his ruined face.

"Fire-eater, it is not so bad," Lapwing comforted. "There will not always be pain. The pain will go away and then the scars will not hurt."

"You don't understand," Dustfinger moaned. "I don't mind the pain – it doesn't hurt bad now compared to before. It's Roxane."

The two fairies settled on his knee. "You spoke this name in your sleep," said Lapwing. "Tell us, fire-eater, why were you attacked?"

Dustfinger did not want to recall the story, but he told it the best he could remember, shuddering as he spoke of the knife that had cut his flesh so cruelly. As he ended, he felt the tears returning. "Roxane won't want me now," he wept. "Basta was right – she'll never take a man with half a face."

Hyacinth snorted. "It seems to me if she will not take you now, she was not worth having in the first place. But perhaps you do not understand the depth of true love, fire-eater. From what you have told us, it seems that you bear these wounds for her sake. They are marks of your love for her, fire-eater. Of your love. When others look at you, when she looks at you, they will see only your love written on your face forever."

Dustfinger wiped tears from his eyes. "If Roxane does not mind, then I couldn't care less what everyone else thinks." _The scarred fire-eater. The fire-eater scarred with love._

He reached over and picked up his pack from where it had been laid carefully on a rock. As he did, Gwin poked his head out, chattered, and disappeared back into his lair. Dustfinger smiled through his tears. "At least Gwin doesn't act any differently towards me."

His face grew grim. "Roxane will be sick with worry. I've got to get back and let her know I'm alright." He touched his cheek. "Well mostly alright." He turned to the fairies. "You've done so much for me. Thank you for saving my life and for doing what you could for me. But I must go home now."

The fairies nodded together. "Yes, go back to your woman. Do not be afraid, fire-eater. Farewell."

Dustfinger slipped the pack over his shoulders and lightly darted through the woods. His face hurt even less now and he was anxious to see Roxane, anxious and worried. For he still feared deep inside that she would be as horrified by his face as he himself was. But as he ran, a new thought struck him and he stopped dead in his tracks. _Basta._ Did he think that the fire raiser would merely scar him and then leave? Of course not. As soon as he was out of the way, Basta would have gone after Roxane. With his heart suddenly racing to a new fear, he dashed off towards the house where Roxane was staying.


	4. Marked by Love

Chapter 4: Marked by Love

Roxane started to worry the moment Dustfinger wasn't back for lunch. She kept staring out the window, watching for any flicker of fire on the road that would announce the fire-eater's presence. Delicious smells wafted out of the kitchen, but she ignored them. Strange how once she had been perfectly happy on her own and now she couldn't even stand to go one morning without seeing Dustfinger's mysterious smile. The meal was good, but she ate half-heartedly, despite Arrisa's assurances that Dustfinger would be back any minute.

But he did not come back. Soon it was four in the afternoon and still there was no sign of him. "Oh, he's probably found a good audience and is enjoying himself," said Redwind. "I'll bet that he comes back with a few coins."

But then evening came and the sky began to darken as the sun set behind the hills. "He's never left me for this long," said Roxane.

"Fire looks better at night," said Redwind. "Doubtlessly, he was asked to stay at Tranton and put on a night performance. He'll be back in the morning."

Roxane woke long before the sun was up and immediately hurried into Dustfinger's room, hoping with all her heart that he would be lying in his bed with Gwin curled up on his chest. The bed was empty – it had not been disturbed all night. It was then that Roxane began to fear that something truly dreadful had happened to her fire-eater. None of Redwind and Arrisa's confident assurances that he was fine and had merely stayed the night in Tranton helped. Every moment that passed made Roxane more afraid. By the time evening had come again, she was desperate.

_He'll come,_ she kept trying to tell herself. _He'll come back laughing and playing with fire. We've both lived our lives separately until a few months ago and I can go a few days without seeing him._ But she didn't believe herself.

On the third day since he had left, finally Redwind and Arrisa seemed to be getting worried. At noon, they told Roxane that they were going to Tranton to see if they could find him or at least get news of him. Roxane stood at the window and watched them disappear down the road. Finally, she fell asleep on the broad window sill that overlooked the road.

She awoke to the sound of the door opening behind her. Groggily, she pushed black hair out of her face as she turned to see what news her friends had returned with. She froze, all sleepiness draining from her as fear surged in to take its place.

Basta chuckled. "Well, well, all alone, are we? I've been waiting for your two friends to leave for some while, so that I could drop in and pay you a visit by yourself."

Roxane stood quickly, pressing herself against the sill. _Redwind, Arrisa, come back. Oh, come back, please._ "They went to get some bread," she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling, "but I'm not alone. Dustfinger's in the back room."

The look on Basta's face made Roxane shudder. "Oh, Dustfinger's here, is he? Dear, beloved, wonderful, perfect Dustfinger. The man who was better than me. No, Roxane, I don't think he's here. He might be in a ditch somewhere or, who knows, he might still be lying in the road. But I don't think he's here."

Basta's words confirmed Roxane's worst fears. Horror seeped into her heart. "What have you done with him?" she choked. "Why are you here?"

The fire raiser pulled out his knife and ran his finger delicately along its edge. "I am surprised. I would have thought that you'd know the answer to the second question, at least. As I told Dustfinger, I don't like it when I'm refused. You made me rather angry in the Castle of Night, so I'm here to get what I still want – you. It was easy to track down Dustfinger after I'd found someone who could read your little orb. He's rather famous. And as for what I've done with your dear Dustfinger, well, I've turned him into a pretty piece of art. But I doubt if you'll ever get to see him again." As he spoke, he moved forward until his knife pricked Roxane's shoulder.

"Get away from her, Basta!" A column of fire shot up from the floor singing Basta's jacket. With an angry shout, he turned to stare at the doorway where Dustfinger stood, a hooded cloak thrown around his shoulders. Basta reacted quickly by seizing Roxane and pressing his knife against her throat. But Roxane barely noticed the cold steel. _He's alive_.

"Make the fire go away," Basta shouted. "One tiny flame and I'll cut her throat." Instantly, the fire receded and Dustfinger stood in silence, his eyes glinting in the shadow cast by the hood. Basta smiled again. "Ah, so you did live. I hoped that I hadn't bled you too much. After all, it would be a pity if Roxane never got to see your face. I was just telling her about it."

"I don't care." Dustfinger's voice betrayed the opposite of those words.

Basta sneered. "Then why the hood? Come on, fire-eater, show her your face. I want to see her horror. I want to hear her say how hideous you are."

Roxane's eyes were fixed on Dustfinger. He returned her look and for a moment she saw the glint of agony in his eyes before he nodded ever so briefly. Knowing what he wanted of her, she made her move swiftly, ramming her elbow into Basta's thin chest. At the same time, Dustfinger leapt forward, faster than the flames he controlled. Roxane leapt out of the way and the two men crashed into the wall. Basta was trying to use his knife, but Dustfinger held his hand away, twisting as he tried to rid his opponent of the deadly weapon. Suddenly, Basta howled in pain and dropped the knife, staring down at his leg where Gwin was resolutely biting away. That was all Dustfinger needed. He swung his arm around and caught Basta on the side of the face with a stinging blow, sending the fire raiser staggering to the floor. It was over then, and Dustfinger knelt over Basta, the knife held against its cruel master's throat.

Basta was breathing hard. He stared up into Dustfinger's angry eyes and chuckled. "Are you going to kill me? Do you really have the guts? Go ahead, I've left my mark on this world, carved all over your pretty face."

His voice trailed off as the knife pressed a little harder. "I don't kill," Dustfinger grated, "and I don't like weapons. But I'll tell my fire to teach you a lesson if you don't get out now." As if to prove his point, a flame appeared on the floor and curled around Basta's hand. Evidently, the fire raiser could feel its heat for suddenly his face twisted in fear. Dustfinger's voice was as hard as rock. "Get out, Basta. Get out now."

He released Basta, and the fire raiser bolted upright, pursued by the flames. Not even bothering to take the knife that Dustfinger had thrown away, he dashed out the door, followed by a trail of fire.

Dustfinger sank against the wall and Roxane was instantly at his side, concern written all over her face. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

The fire-eater smiled wryly. "Yes, I'm fine. Just need to get my breath back. Seems that I came right at the perfect moment though. It's a good thing that he's afraid of fire or I might have had more than I could handle."

Roxane frowned. "You should have killed him while you had the chance."

Dustfinger shrugged and leaned his head back against the wall. "It didn't seem right. Even after all he's done, I had no desire to kill him. Scare him, maybe, but not kill him."

Roxane remembered Basta's words and worry returned. "But what has he done? Is your face…?" She trailed off, overcome by emotion.

Dustfinger looked at her, but she could read nothing in that look save perhaps pain. "Very well." His voice faltered as he reached up, pulled back his hood, and turned his left cheek to Roxane. The light from the window fell upon the three gashes.

Roxane bit her lip so hard that it hurt, but she couldn't stop the gasp of shock from coming out. She knew enough of healers' lore to know that Dustfinger's face would never fully recover, but she did not care. She had been so afraid that he would never come back at all and from the look of the wounds, she knew that Dustfinger must have lost a great deal of blood. It would have been easy for him to bleed to death on the road. So dreadfully easy. She continued to stare at his face, horror for what might have happened and relief that it hadn't written on her face.

Dustfinger only saw the horror and he took her gasp to mean what he had so feared – that she was revolted by his appearance. Sucking in his breath sharply to control a sob, he turned his face away as he whispered, "Don't worry – I'm not going to stay. You won't have to look at my face any longer."

Roxane caught his sleeve. "What do you mean?"

"I understand. You're young and pretty and there are plenty of other men out there who have more than half a face. This was what Basta wanted all along anyway – for me to be so mutilated that you wouldn't want me anymore."

Roxane stopped him as he turned to leave. Gently, she put her hand against his cheek and turned his head so that he was forced to look at her. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Oh, Dustfinger, is that what you think? You think I would turn you away just because you have a few scars. I do not know and cannot even imagine what you have been through, but I know that it was for my sake. You saved me from Basta. If I turned you away now, I would deserve a far worse punishment than you have received."

"Then you don't mind? They're hideous, Roxane, hideous."

Roxane drew his face to hers and kissed him three times, once on each scar. "No, Dustfinger, they're beautiful. They're the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I can always look at you now and know how much you love me and if I ever doubt, all I have to do it look at your face."

It was a rare occasion for Dustfinger's face to be readable at all, but as Roxane looked at him now she could see his every thought and emotion – weariness, relief, and love. She collapsed into his arms and as he squeezed her tight, she heard his soft voice. "Nothing will ever separate us, Roxane. I'll always be here for you, always come back. I promise." And as Roxane buried her face in his shoulder and breathed in the smell of fire she had come to love so much, she knew his words were true, and contentment swept over her like a warm flame.

The End


End file.
